Blog Tour: Infected: Holden (Mean Streets #1) by Andrea Speed

Holden has taken over the clubhouse today. We're swimming in his snark infested waters.

Speed Dating With Holden

As part of the pre-launch for Infected: Holden, I thought I’d subject Holden to a battery of common speed dating questions to see how he does. You’d think he’d be a natural.

What are you looking for in a relationship?

Holden: A hit and run. No attachments whatsoever, maybe an exchange of insurance information. And a pizza would be nice.

What’s the one thing about yourself you’d like me to know?

Holden: I don’t want to have to kill you, but I will if I have to.

What do you think is the most important value in a relationship?

Holden: Separate bathrooms.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

Holden: If everybody’s on club drugs, yes.

Do you want to get married?

Holden: Only if I stand to inherit a fuckton of money.

What do you do for fun?

Holden: I’d tell you, but then I really would have to kill you. It’s all illegal.

What are you most proud about?

Holden: I haven’t been arrested for my genuine crimes.

What’s your favorite movie?

Holden: Aliens.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

Holden: Six feet under. Hopefully dead too, but we’ll see.

What adjective would a close friend use to describe you?

Holden: Lethal.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Holden: The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Or a World of Leather outlet store. Both if possible.

What’s the last book you read?

Holden: You Will Know Me by Megan Abbott. Straight people are so weird.

What’s your favorite sporting activity?

Holden: Does fucking count? If not, punching.

What’s your greatest weakness?

Holden: Answering deeply stupid questions.


With his friend lion shifter Roan McKichan no longer in the picture, former sex worker Holden Krause is now working as a detective investigating cases in Seattle. When he receives a request to investigate a rather unusual case for Big Mike, a local drug dealer, he ignores the potential hazards in working for such a client and takes it on.

But Holden hasn’t given up his vigilante ways, occasionally seeking violent retribution for those ignored by the justice system. There’s a man stalking the streets, assaulting anyone he perceives to be trans or gender-nonconforming in any way. When the brutality escalates, the case becomes personal for Holden.

If he cannot juggle being both a detective and a vigilante, his taste for blood and danger might finally catch up with him.

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     His cell phone hummed in his pocket, and Holden answered it without looking. It could only be Otter. “It’s him,” he said and hung up. Holden pocketed his phone and pulled the black leather gimp mask over his face. He unzipped the mouth so he could talk to the fuckhole on his way in.

     Holden stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside, although he kept his jeans and boots on. He had to. He had to preserve the surprise.

     There was a knock on the door before it opened, and by that time Holden was lounging on the bed in his best porn-movie-bottom pose, like he was patiently waiting to be pounded by the pizza delivery boy. The man who came in smelled of cigarettes and was wearing basically anonymous blue jeans, white sneakers, and a blue polo shirt. He had thinning brown hair shaved down to a fuzz, perhaps trying to imply his baldness was a choice, and pale blue eyes that seemed to betray nothing but a kind of dull emptiness. He was pudgy, with a bit of a gut, but at least some of it was hard fat. He gazed at Holden, checking him out before bothering to look at his face. “Take that off. I wanna see your face.”

     Holden slowly pushed up from the bed, and stood beside it, keeping his posture and body language as casual as possible. “Maybe you should take it off, Master.”

     Something sparked briefly in his eyes. He liked being called “Master.” “I told you to do it, slave. So do it.”

     Holden played around with the zipper as he slunk closer, giving him his best sexy eyes, and as soon as he was able, he grabbed the waistband of the man’s jeans and ran his thumb over the top button. The man grabbed his wrist, a little too hard as expected, and while he was asserting his dominance, Holden slipped his Taser out of his jeans and jabbed him with it. Right in the dick.

     The asshole tried to scream, but he couldn’t manage much more than a squeak. He collapsed to the floor, and as soon as he was down, Holden straddled him and pulled out his butterfly knife. He opened it with a sharp flick of his wrist, exposing the blade, and pressed it against his throat before he stopped spasming. “Shouldn’t have used the same online handle, DomNick101. Did you think just ’cause you rented a boy from Backpage that gave you license to do whatever you wanted with him?”

     DomNick couldn’t yet speak, although the way his eyes bulged and mouth twitched, he wanted to say something. “You think you could just beat the shit out of Otter, and there’d be no repercussions at all? ’Cause he’d never go to the cops? Did you ever think that maybe there were worse things than cops, fuckhead?”

About the Author

Andrea Speed probably exists, although that might be objectively hard to prove. Do any of us exist? Is it a truly quantifiable state, or do we simply think we exist? And will this pay my utility bills if I deny my existence to the power company? Questions upon questions.


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